Warning Lights
by Limegreen16
Summary: He is the very last thing she sees before the lights go out. The sounds blur into each other. Then, it's just darkness. Barney and Robin get kidnapped. BROtp.
1. Chapter 1

_All I really want to do is love you.  
A kind much closer than friends use.  
But I still can't say it after all we've been through._

She watches him. Flirt calmly with every woman that comes in the bar hot enough to catch his eye. It's a reflex for him. A rejection doesn't even faze his speed.

Sometimes she wonders why she ever thought he'd changed.

And the worst part is that she was naive enough to think he'd changed _for her_. Barney Stinson, she realizes, will never change. He'll be chasing skirts until the day he dies.

Their entire relationship was built on that lie. She's fooled herself, he fooled her, they fooled everyone into thinking they could actually work. For six months. And she would have done anything to make them work, anything for him. She just isn't sure he would've been that dedicated.

He comes around, still on high with his latest batch of phone numbers, and grins. It's the two of them, alone. She refuses to meet his eye.

'Guess how many I've gotten,' he says proudly, showering the pieces of paper on the table. 'Go on. It's a double digit.'

'Barney, I honestly don't care.'

'Three guesses. I'll give you a hint.'

'Look, I'm tired. Can we do this another—'

'It's an odd number. There.'

'I don't care.'

She sighs, biting her lip. It's an awkward silence. He clears his throat and shoves the papers back into his suit pocket quietly, mumbling an apology.

'It was thirteen,' he tells her. She rolls her eyes. Like she'd wanted to know. He's probably going to sleep with every one of them, the way he's been lately.

'I'm bailing. I'm kind of tired. . .from work. Yeah. See you tomorrow,' she says quickly, standing up, nearly knocking over her beer.

'I'll call you a cab.'

'No need.'

'You sure? I'm on my way out too.'

Robin shrugs. She knows he's trying, can see the effort on his part, the anxiety in his eyes. But right now, she honestly just wants to rip his blonde head off for being such a jerk. They leave together anyway.

A world of frost between them.

Of course she blames him for being so damn insensitive. He's practically been showing off his conquests, parading all these young girls, winning the break-up by landslides. Yes. She hasn't been strong enough to go out there. You broke my heart, she wants to tell him. But it isn't the type of thing Robin Scherbatsky—gun and hockey aficionado—would ever openly admit to.

So she doesn't. The words build up in her and she buries them down. It's what she does best.

'Here's one,' he announces, flagging the cab down. He opens the door for her. Moody, she slides inside, the smell of greasy fries overwhelming her.

'You hungry?' he asks, as if reading her expression. 'I noticed you haven't had dinner. We could stop by that diner around the corner.'

The diner. The one they'd spent every night in, the one she's been openly avoiding and secretly revisiting by herself. A lot of memories there, and she can't risk it tonight. She shakes her head.

'I'm not hungry. But thanks anyway.'

'Sure.'

'I'm fine, Barney.'

His eyes still on her. She feels impatient, says nothing, and gives the driver her address.

'Step on it,' she adds, glancing at Barney. She can't stand this.

How long has it been? Almost two months now? She shouldn't still be angry or hung up on him, not this way, she's had her ten thousand drinks, Ted wasn't this difficult, Ted wasn't such a show-off. . .Her thoughts trail, dragging themselves. Why is it so hard? Proximity? Need for closure? It was a mutual break-up, after all.

He doesn't seem to have any trouble at all. And she envies him for it.

'Something wrong?' he asks, noticing her glance at him.

'Nothing.' Lie.

God. It really gnaws at her when he acts this way, as if at any minute, she could break into a million pieces. She isn't that fragile.

Or maybe she is.

Suddenly the cab screeches into a halt. They launch forward, colliding into each other(he catches her and she pulls back). She's about to launch into a tirade against the driver, when she sees what's wrong.

And Robin Scherbatsky's speechless.

'What's wro—?' Barney stops. 'What the hell is this?'

A masked man with a gun had stopped them on this empty street. He pokes his head through the window, only blue eyes visible.

'Barney Stinson.' It isn't a question at all. Eyes shift to her. 'And his friend. Huh. That's convenient.'

'Look, I don't know who you are, but here's my wallet.' Barney throws it at the man. 'Now, leave.'

He laughs. 'I don't need this.'

'Then, what do you want?'

'You're coming with me. The girl too.'

'What? Absolutely not. Let her go.'

'You don't exactly have a choice here, Stinson. Get out of the car, hands up. Same goes for your friend.'

Robin does as told, too terrified to argue. It feels like a joke. A scam. She meets Barney's dead serious eyes as they stand in the rain, a gun pointed at them. Funny. She's always been on the other end.

'This will hurt,' the man says, moving forward.

He is the very last thing she sees before the lights go out. The sounds blur into each other. Then, it's just darkness.

**XXX**

The room is sparse, dark, dirty and wet. They're both handcuffed to the same pipe too. All this comes to mind with her head still half-swimming, still aching, still struggling into consciousness. Barney nudges her gently.

'Hey. Are you all right?'

She wants to slap him. Of course she isn't okay.

'My head hurts a bit.'

He runs his free hand through her hair and face, checking for cuts meticulously. There's a bruise by the side of his cheek. His hand is bleeding—she presumes he tried to fight their attacker. There's a mixture of fear and determination written on his expression.

'Why are we here?' she demands, her voice hushed. 'Why you? What did you do?'

'Some work contracts fell apart.'

'Contracts for what?'

His face is screwed up. 'I can't tell you.'

'Why not?'

'These are dangerous people. I can't risk you anymore than I have. I'm sorry.'

'You should be. You're the only reason why we're here, why I'm here.'

'Well, it's not like I planned for this.'

'So how do we get out of this?

'I don't know.'

'Where are we?'

'I don't know.'

'What do you know?'

'Nothing. I don't know who they are and what they want. I've been trying to figure it out.' He groans. 'This is the worst timing ever. Just when my game is so good.'

She shakes her head. 'It was a mistake riding with you.'

'You're blaming me now?'

'It _is_ your fault.' She pulls away, dragging herself as far as the pipe can take her away from him—she's suffocating in here. The noise resonates in the empty room. 'I don't deserve this. I'm only here because of you.'

'Oh, and I deserve whatever this is? Is that what you're saying?' he asks angrily.

'For now?' She meets her eye coolly. 'You do.'

A harsh thing to say, she thinks. But she's too irrationally angry to try and care. For all she knows, nobody's ever going to figure out where they've disappeared to.

**So, I hope if you like it I find a lot of reviews in my email. Just 5 will do. Or 6. I don't know, just please tell me if I should continue.**

**I feel like it was a mess, this chapter.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

It's finally morning.

Barney feels as heavy as ever, his body sore from sitting in one spot all night, from all the hits he took. Last night, when the guy pulled his gun over Robin, he just lost it. It was stupid. It was a reflex.

He rubs his eyes. He hadn't slept at all.

Every few seconds he'd pinch his skin, remind himself to stay awake and keep guard as she curled up in the corner away from him and slept. He had almost wanted to put his jacket over her. But with one hand cuffed to a pipe, it was impossible. Besides, they aren't exactly the best of friends right now.

Their break-up was supposed to be two friends getting back together. And he had believed her when she said it. But they had only gone from bad to worse; from fighting to ignoring each other. He couldn't stand the fact that she seemed so fine with him exaggerating every conquest. Not all were true. For awhile, he didn't even feel obliged enough to go hit on random women, when all of them reminded him of her.

He took little parts of her and put them into those women he supposedly slept with, described them as lovingly as he would her, defended them as he had her. And she never noticed.

Suddenly, the door creaks open. A man walks in , smirking, a big bucket in hand.

'Had a good night's sleep?' He throws icy, cold water over their heads, and Robin gasps awake. He pushes hair out of his face. The man, satisfied with their reaction, beckons a boy to bring in a tray of food. 'Eat up. You'll need the energy.'

'Why?' he asks.

The man just shrugs. 'I just follow orders, man.'

'Can I get some burgers?'

He rolls his eyes and slams the door, leaving them alone.

On the tray there's one bottle of water, a few packs of old biscuits and a an apple. He briefly wonders if it's poisoned. Bottle in hand, he offers it to her.

'Aren't you thirsty?' she asks, groggily reaching out.

_Parched_. 'No, you go first.'

'Thanks.'

He watches as she drowns half of the water, and moves to open the biscuits. They eat in silence. All three packs are gone in a matter of minutes, the bottle kicked aside, wrappers torn into pieces. His head throbs from the blow last night. But he can't tell her that.

'You don't look so good.'

'Why do you care?' he snaps, the lack of sleep getting to him. 'You got to sleep all night long.'

'Excuse me for having a bad day yesterday and wanting to get some rest.'

'And what a great place you chose.'

She shakes her head. 'Actually, that was _you_, Barney. Thanks a lot for bringing me here. Really.'

He opens his mouth to retort, but before he does, the door bursts open. One by one, they file into the room. All masked. All dressed in black. All armed.

'Who are you?' Barney demands.

They don't answer. Two of them uncuff him and drag him onto a chair, binding his hands. He looks at Robin, sitting there. The tension escalates.

'That was a very big deal you decided to throw away at Ultracell,' one of the men start to say. Must be the gang leader. Intense eyes. 'Millions of dollars were at stake. Why did you?'

'Why what?'

'Don't play cocky with me.'

'The company's been wanting to improve their image, lately. We decided JDJ Corporation was too shady. We even lost touch with the North Koreans.'

The guy fingers his gun. Picks it up and bashes Barney with it. He hears Robin's gasp, doesn't dare look into her eyes, and raises his chin.

'Was that supposed to hurt?' he asks defiantly.

Robin starts. 'Barney—'

'Shut up.' The man circles around him. Hits him again, harder. Barney is left reeling, his head spinning, but he tries to shake it off. He can't appear affected. Not here, not with her in the room. He has to play it like it doesn't matter. 'How's that, Stinson?'

'On a scale of one to five, one being the lowest? That was a three.'

The guy's eye twitches. 'I don't have time for your games.'

'Too bad.'

'Look, we know you're valuable to the company. And that you spearheaded the team that rejected the contract.'

'Maybe I did.'

'You did.'

'How can you be sure?'

'We've done our research, Stinson. For example. We know that you and—what's her name—'

'Robin,' he interjects. 'Her name is Robin.'

'—_Robin_, are exes.' He raises an eyebrow. 'Correct? There's not a lot we don't know about you. But you know nothing about us.'

'Aren't you going to tell me what you want? Money? A better contract? Why are we here?'

He moves close to Barney's face, an inch from his eyes—so close he can see the shaking anger, the hatred—and drops his voice.

'I lost everything when that contract got rejected. My whole life. All I want now is to rebuild it, and make you pay for everything you've done,' he growls. The voice is familiar, Barney thinks. But he can't recognize it. 'You'll regret ever ripping JDJ off. I promise you.'

He holds his breath. Just stares at the guy, point-black.

'Who are you?' he murmurs.

'Walter.'

'Is that your real name?'

'No.'

Walter sternly unbuckles his belt, waving it threateningly. Two other men hold him down to the chair as he struggles desperately.

'My mother used to have a belt like that,' he says through gritted teeth. There is something scary about this guy; he's the quiet, calculated type. Those are always harder to read. 'Am I getting spanked today?'

'I don't like that tone, Stinson. You're too arrogant. But when we're through with you, you'll be a brand new man.'

In the corner of his eye, he notices Robin being held by a burly man, looking helpless watching him. She tries to fight against the big guy's grip. He just knows she's silently trying to get him to stop talking.

He feels a sting on the side of his face. His mind whirs around. His face feels numb. Fists, spit, blood and baseball bats. Belts. Thoughts incoherent. His whole body too shaky. He slumps against the chair, panting and gasping for the next breath. It lasts for what feels like hours. In his effort to detach himself, to survive, he tries to find something else to occupy his mind aside from the humiliation and pain.

And he comes up with this recurring thought.

If, somehow by a chance of fate, they make it out of here alive, he promises he'll never take anything for granted again. Not the people around him, not alcohol, not bimbos. Not Robin.

'Run out of things to say, have you, you smart-mouthed son of a bitch,' one of the men holding him down snickers.

With all his strength, Barney Stinson looks up and spits at the man's eyes.

**XXX**

They'd cuffed him back to the pipe roughly an hour ago, his knuckles and palms cut, swollen and purple. He had felt something warm on the side of his face. Gushing. He touched it lightly(it stung like hell), and his finger came back a deep red. It took him _seconds_ to realize what it was with his head swimming in delirious throbbing cycles. They had used everything in their disposal to hit him. Took turns, even. He can still remember the way they laughed into his ears as he tried to sit up still. On his foot is his torn suit jacket, laying there, useless.

_This is just the beginning, Stinson. We're just warming up._

He isn't sure how much more he can take. It was humiliating. Terrifying. Like a scene out of the most horrifying movies, only worse, because she was there and she witnessed everything.

Now he's too tired to even think of a joke to reassure her that's they haven't knocked the spirit out of him. Well, not yet, anyway.

'You have to stop doing that.' Robin's frustrated voice cuts through the silence. He only realizes then how dark it already is. Dusk, probably.

He swallows. His throat is dry. 'Doing what?'

'Pushing their buttons! They're torturing you out there!'

'They can do anything they want. I can't stop them.'

'You're not helping anyone by doing that.'

'Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt?' he asks sardonically. As if their relationship isn't strained enough. He clears his throat and kicks his jacket aside angrily.

'You just can't help yourself, can you? You have to push everyone who cares away.'

That gets to him. But he steels himself, and it's one thing he does well.

'Your voice is too loud,' he tells her. 'It's making my head hurt.'

'Fine. I'll stop talking.'

He wants to say no, that isn't what he meant at all. Can't she see through him? It's so painfully, shamefully obvious. She pulls her knees up to her chest and looks up, the dying lights of sunset playing around her somber expression. Sweat glistens on her face. Her hair is all messed up and there's a cut on her lip. Even so, he doesn't think he will ever meet anyone as beautiful.

_I'm sorry_, he wants to say. He feels the urge to admit everything he's been feeling since their breakup—how he feels like she's slipping away, how jealous he's been, how stupidly he acts around her. All of it.

But he can't.

**Thanks so much for the reviews for last chapter! I hope I didn't disappoint. I know it's a cliche when two characters with chemistry get kidnapped, but I want to put my own spin on it all. **

**AT LEAST 7 reviews, I guess, 'til the next time. :) Bad or good! Or just nonsense, really.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N; Thanks for last chapter's reviews, guys!**

Ted slides into the seat with his cold beer, sighing. Marshall and Lily look at him expectantly.

'Okay, guys,' he starts. 'Now I'm really worried. Robin hasn't even called to leave a message. They've already been gone three days.'

Lily frowns. 'I still think they might have just run off together.'

'Yeah,' Marshall agrees. 'It's Barney and Robin. They're probably holed up in a hotel somewhere doing you-know-what.'

'Maybe they never broke up at all.'

Ted raises an eyebrow.

'What? It's possible. They've fooled us before.'

He shrugs. 'I don't know, Lily. I just don't think it's possible.'

'Why not?' Marshall asks, switching in what Ted can only call lawyer-mode. 'Maybe you haven't got it through all that hair product on you, but it's _Barney and Robin. _Those two have crazy chemistry. And they're crazy impulsive. I see the equal sign here.'

'It's just. . .Well, I swear, I haven't seen them even speak to each other since they broke up. Have you?'

'Now that you mention it? No.' Lily leans against Marshall, in thought. 'I never noticed.'

But Ted did. He had gone through it once; dating and breaking up with Robin. It was tough. His hardest break-up (okay, maybe third if Karen counts) behind the debacle with Stella and Tony. He knew how awkward it would be for awhile, and he was right. They made excuses not to be alone together, never made eye contact, never sat on the same side of the booth anymore, never said more than two words to each other.

It was so obvious: they missed each other. But he knows that _they_ knew it was impossible, going back to what they had been.

'So, really, our theory that they ran away together can't be true,' Ted concludes, after his train of thought.

'Well, what else is there?' Marshall points out. 'They disappeared together, without warning. I checked Barney's apartment and it's clean. The last time I saw him was that night we all left the bar early.'

'Yes, and Robin stayed behind to finish her drink,' Lily adds. 'Her and Barney.'

Ted gulps his beer. 'Robin never came up.'

'I just don't think Barney would leave Robin alone for some girl,' Lily interjects stubbornly. 'I mean, maybe their relationship's changed, a lot. But he wouldn't leave her.'

Marshall nods. 'Definitely not.'

'Okay, so let's say they left together, then.' Ted pauses. 'I remember Robin saying something about meeting up with a friend. So Barney must have gone with her.'

'But I called her friend, and they never made it,' Lily tells them. They are quiet for awhile. Ted prides himself on his detecting skills but this is one hell of a puzzle.

'Do you think they're okay?' he asks, a thought occurring to him. Up until then, they had strayed from saying it out loud. The worry. 'They can't be lying in a ditch somewhere, right? I'm being paranoid. Maybe they are just fooling around. Right?'

He no longer sounds confident of it. A dozen scenarios run through his head, half of which he tries not to believe. It's Barney and Robin, he tells himself. They can take care of each other.

**XXX**

It's his turn to sleep.

'I'm fine,' he insists. 'You don't have to baby me. You sleep.'

Maybe he's forgotten how stubborn she could be.

'Stop whining. It's my turn to stay up.'

'You look terrible.'

It's a tactic, and she knows better than to let it get to her.

'I'm not backing off. We could both not sleep tonight, if you'd prefer it that way.'

And that settles it. In a matter of a few minutes, her worry eases as she hears slight snoring coming from his side.

(Barney only ever snores when he's completely exhausted. And considering his stamina, that's saying a lot. )

She remembers the way they would fall asleep together, back when Barney still instinctively tried to run away every night. She never blamed him for it; it was who he was, and still is. But now, things just seem to rub differently. Everything they say to each other sound like insults, even if they aren't supposed to be. Not at all.

Why, though? If they're still the same people. If they still care about each other. What's different?

'Who's there?' she demands, as the door swings open. She sits up sharply. Her heart pounds in her ears.

'Shsh. . .'

A man walks quietly towards them and bends down. He gives her a heavy paperbag hastily. He runs his hands all over the wall behind her as she watches, intently, curiously. Then, the man pulls a plank apart, revealing a hollow concave, and stares back at her.

'Who are you?' she whispers.

'This should last for a few days. I'll be back.'

'Why are you helping us?'

The man shakes his head and leaves the package with her. Slips out as quickly as he had come in. Robin digs in, careful not to make too much noise and wake Barney. There are a few supplies: water, some food, cotton swabs, a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Sheer relief showers her. Then, disappointment. Couldn't the man have given them a phone of some sort? Instructions? A map? Anything.

Anything.

As a journalist she's reported on these stories. Some people make it out after days, months, years—if they survive at all. Knowing all these facts give her a heightened sense of hopelessness, like she's drowning and flailing her arms and gulping all the water, and there's nothing anyone can do.

**XXX**

'So he just came in and gave us all of this?'

'He did. And he mentioned that he'd come back to give us more.'

Barney counts their supplies. 'Three bottles of water. Biscuits, processed cheese, chocolate kisses. Cotton and alcohol?'

'For wounds.'

'Right.'

'It means he's anticipating something really bad, though, doesn't it?' She's had her suspicions and worries, and she'd waited until he woke up to share them. 'They're planning ahead.'

'Robin, I think at this point, we're just their toys.'

Except the one they really want to hurt isn't her; it's him.

'Pull that plank out,' she instructs. 'We need to hide all of this before someone comes in.'

They hide the bag like it's the most valuable thing in the world. Their secret, their life. One more thing that could tear them apart.

'Look, Barney,' she starts, after a few moments. Finally, everything has sunk in. 'Whatever happens to us, I just want to say—'

'Shut up, Scherbatsky. Nothing's going to happen,' he interrupts firmly. But she hears the tremble in his tone.

'These people are serious, Barney. They could kill us anytime.'

'They can't.'

'Why?'

His face twists grimly. 'They want to see us suffer. Dying would be the easier way out here.'

'It never is, Barney.' She doesn't show how scared she is that he would say that.

He pauses. They're angled as far apart as they can be. For a moment, she thinks he's about to edge closer, maybe kiss her. But he doesn't.

'It's my fault you're here,' he tells her. 'I never should've said I wanted to go home early that night. I was lying.'

'Why would you?'

He shrugs. 'A bunch of reasons. I felt like I needed to fix something between us, I guess, to make up for the terrible stuff I do to you.'

'This counts as one of them?'

'When we get out of here, I'd probably have to spend the rest of my life apologizing,' he muses.

She loves the way he feels the need to be the sure one, between them, that there's a life beyond this.

'It's not going to be enough,' she replies. Her lips stretch to form a weak smile. It's a first. 'Trust me.'

_I __hate you deeply, and hating you  
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you  
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly._

**That last quote's from Pablo Neruda, and Ted's a fan, so I thought it kind of fits. **

**Please review! 7 again! Tell me what parts you like or don't like, what you think will happen. . .  
**


	4. Chapter 4

Robin is right.

They come in the dead of the night, just as Robin frantically shakes him awake. About four of them. He is released, rubbing his wrists, bleary-eyed and confused, and thrown in the middle of the gang, his wounds and bruises still fresh. There is nothing he can do. Hands grapple him down. Screaming in his ears. They're coming from everywhere, and he can't fight it, and all he hears is her.

'Stop it! This is ridiculous, stop it, this is insane, they'll come for you, you know—'

As much as he tries to listen to her voice, his mind loses focus. He is whirling around. He faintly smells cigarettes and sweat, as he grasps the clothes of the men beating him and falls, hands up trying to cover his face.

Again and again.

He's earned a lifetime of slaps, he thinks. The universe is finally giving him what he deserves—for breaking hundreds of random women's hearts, and Robin's.

'What does it feel like?' one of them demands. It's a new voice. 'Huh, Stinson? Being helpless. Tell me! What does it feel like?'

A hard fist collides with his gut. He chokes.

'Answer me!'

'It feels awful!'

'It's not enough.'

With what's left of his vision, he manages to see a blade, drawn out from one of the pockets. A clean, shining knife. A hand waves it around, and his stomach churns as he waits for the inevitable—will it be his head, his gut? His chest? He has never been more acutely aware of his own body.

But all he feels is a slice of air across his arm. Then, two. It doesn't hurt for awhile.

He touches the familiar liquid, warm, and in the dark it's hard to tell the color. They laugh. A pair of strong hands pick him up and throw him against a wall, and he crashes against the wood. He's choking, hands around his neck like snakes. The man sneers.

'You can't do this to us! Stop it. Leave him! Please, stop it now—'

And for some reason, they follow. He waits to be dragged back into the chaos, to be beaten up, to be hit, to be yelled at. But he just sits there, cold, still reeling, drained.

That's when he realizes they've turned to her.

(And why wouldn't they? Why didn't he see this coming? She's gorgeous.)

She screams—he'll never forget the way it sounds. They unbutton her shirt and _touch_ her. She struggles, but they hit her too. Fuck them. Rage fills him up. They don't have any right to touch her. They don't have any right to even look at her.

'It's been long since I've done this,' he hears one of them snicker.

'Hey! Let me have a go at her.'

'Shut up, Krawstowski, she clearly prefers me.'

'Fuck off.'

'I will.'

'Let her go,' he mumbles incoherently. His mind is in a slur. 'Let her go! Hit me. Whatever you want. Hit me! Can't you hear me? Stop touching her!'

They don't hear his pathetic cries, he thinks. She screams again. They laugh.

He wishes he can do something, really, anything, but he can't move, he can't even utter a word, they're touching her, he has to get up, his legs feel like spaghetti—

'Stop.'

The calm voice comes from the shadows. Walter's.

The men drop everything, they drop her.

'That's enough fun for tonight. No need to cuff them.'

'Boss!'

'Get out, boys.'

He listens until they do leave, mumbling under their breaths. It is the first time he's ever felt that much gratitude and relief. He must be delirious from loss of blood.

'Are you okay?' he wills himself to say, although he himself is shaking. Stupid question. He fights the sting, panting.

'I'm fine. You?'

'This? It's nothing.'

They lie. It's what they do.

**XXX**

Nobody disturbs them. They are left alone, supplied with nothing except their illegal basics, and what a way to torture two people, he thinks. In the morning, the heat is suffocating. At night, the cold is unbearable. For him, at least. Robin is Canadian, built with thick skin.

Still. Everything is eating away at him.

He aches for his bed and pillow, having thrown hers away when they broke up. He misses calling his mom every night just to say hello, hearing her daily reminders, being spoiled like that. He imagines taking a nice, long bath. An ironed and pressed suit. Sleep and food fit for humans. His friends. Everything he'd taken for granted has much more meaning now, and everything he'd prized about himself means nothing.

And Robin? She won't even talk to him.

**XXX**

The words stop rolling.

She doesn't know what to say, after what had happened. And she's still unsure of what she feels. They didn't even go all the way. Yet, for some reason, she feels ashamed, disgusted, shaky. Her lips tremble when she tries to tell him about it.

She can tell, despite being so completely lost in herself, that he's hurt pretty bad. He sits in only one position, as if it hurts to move. He doesn't hum his usual songs, crack inappropriate jokes or yell obscenities at their guards. His arm lays limp, his shirt soiled in blood. He won't tell her, of course.

To them, whatever isn't acknowledged can't be true.

She hurls a bottle of alcohol at him. Out of anger, out of concern. He picks it up with his good arm and looks at her, taking his sleeve of. He grimaces.

**XXX**

The world right now boils down to three things. him, Robin, and survival. He has to shun out everything else. Today alone, he's already fallen asleep a dozen many times, each time waking up terrified that they might take her away.

It's still pretty ugly, his wound. He stares at his own arm. Like it's all a dream, a nightmare, something he'll never fully believe.

'I'm hungry,' he says. His throat feels dry, words foreign through his lips. He wants her to eat. But all she does is toss him a cheese stick and a bottle of water. 'Are you?'

"Nope. Hide the wrapper when you're done.'

'You have to take something.'

'No, I don't.'

'Water. I mean, a sip would be good, right?'

'I can take care of myself, Barney.' There's an edge to her voice. He knows when to drop it.

He watches her stare out the window, where they can watch the fading lights. What does she miss, he wonders. Who is she thinking about—her dad, an ex, maybe? And does she think as much of him as he does of her.

Probably not.

**XXX**

'What would you differently?' she asks him. It's been running through her mind all day.

'What?' He just seems stunned that she would speak, to him, now.

'Knowing that we could be here forever, what would you differently?'

He pauses. 'My dad.'

'Me too.' She thinks of her gun-toting, scotch-drinking, tough-love advocate of a father in Canada. How they haven't spoken in years. And Barney—well, he never knew his. Maybe that's what makes them click together. Their father issues.

'I'm not stupid. I know it's not Bob Barker.'

'I'm sorry,' she says, because she doesn't know what to say, because in the course of their relationship they had veered away from touchy topics, scared to put everything in one pot. They didn't trust each other enough.

'But that's not the only thing. You know it's not, Robin.'

She doesn't ask him what it is. She already knows.

**Hey, hope you like the choppy style. I wanted to show how fragmented their lives had become. Also, this chapter is a bit more serious? Well, to me. Please review. I worked long on this for you guys:)**

**A handful of reviews will do for the next chapter. Like, maybe 5 or 6. Just need to know what you think so I can improve on every chapter, every line. Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5

Is it the fourth day of their seclusion? Fifth? She can't tell anymore, not with the rain beating down on the sun so much. Life here is a stretch. Days are long. And while she pretends to hate it when he starts to hum a tune, she can't imagine going through this without him.

He does it again, looking out the window wistfully. She closes her eyes to hear through the rain. He'd always liked the Rolling Stones more than the Beatles.

_No sweeping exits or offstage lines,_

_Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind._

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away. _

_Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away._

**XXX**

He's in the middle of desperation, a conceited need to hide it, and boredom. Is that even possible, he asks, tired of waking up in cold sweat, afraid of their unpredictability. He's been running scenarios in his head. And he's bleached out almost every thought he's ever had.

Someone comes in as he's thinking of this. The figure, entirely dressed in black, with visible harrowing eyes, holds up his hands. Another package. Barney sighs in relief.

'I'll take your wrappers and bottles,' he mutters, shoving them into a garbage bag. Barney wonders if it's possible to overpower the guy. He's pretty sure Robin's thinking the same thing.

But he sees a revolver by the man's belt, and that does it—he can't risk their lives like that. They'd have to find another way.

'Hey, Mr,' he calls out. The man turns to him sharply. 'Yeah, you. What's your name?'

'Keep your voice down.'

'Oh, sorry. What's your name?'

The man looks reluctant, bordering on frustrated. 'I don't have time for 20 questions right now.'

'But you have time to sneak us food and water?'

'You should be grateful I put my ass on the line for you.'

Robin warns him to shut it, non-verbally.

'And I am, really. It's just, well, can't you help us out of here? If you can sneak these things to us, I'm willing to bet you can do way more.'

'You're wrong.'

'Just tell us where the hell we are!'

The anger just explodes in him—like a myriad of emotions clambering out. He bangs his fist against the wall and stands up. The man pulls his gun out. Points it right at his head.

'Sit back down,' he threatens.

'No.'

'Barney, just do it, all right? Sit down.'

'He won't shoot. They'd know he's been sneaking us supplies.'

Suddenly, they hear a commotion outside. The man hurriedly picks the bag up, still pointing his gun at Barney, saying, his voice hushed, 'Look, I can't help you, all right? Not now. I just can't.'

He just leaves, closing the door as silently as he can.

'What was that?' Robin demands. 'Are you crazy? You're scaring away the one person we have to rely on, and you almost got yourself shot!'

'I don't plan on staying here for too long,' he shoots back. 'We can't wait around and hope the police just magically finds us. We have to get out. Now. I can't stand it here. Can you?'

'Of course not. But that's no way to do it.'

'I don't care how we get out as long as we do.'

Outside, men jeer and gamble, spitting out words he'd like to rip off from the English vocabulary.

**XXX**

Surprise, surprise—they come back, finally, excited to taunt their starving prisoners. But they're not exactly dying from hunger yet, he thinks, and they're obviously pissed to see it.

'We contacted Ultracell,' one of them reveals through gritted teeth. 'Told them we have you.'

'Yeah?'

'We named our price. A contract for five years, tight as it could be, and we can change the terms to our liking. In exchange, we'd return you alive.'

One of them steps out—Barney recognizes him from a few days before. He seems to be second-in-charge next to Walter.

'They think we're bluffing. They want proof.'

Barney swallows hard. They're going to hurt him. His heart falls.

A couple of men pull him up roughly and bind his hands so tightly they feel cold. He's hung from hooks on the wall. His arms outstretched are painful enough, but now he's completely, utterly defenseless. What kind of people are they? He braces himself for the routine beating.

'We're going to make a little video, Stinson.'

One of them holds a video camera up, sneering nearby, yelling. 'Use the bat first. Pick it up, hit him!'

The bat collides with his stomach, and he reels over with his arms hanging from rope. Christ. The pain surges through him. They do it again—this time it's his back, across his shoulders, and his legs give out to the jarring ache. He hears Robin's voice. He stands up, gingerly, because he doesn't want her to worry.

'That's it.'

'He needs to bleed,' the director chips in. 'Make it look convincing.'

He tries to duck their fists, but someone's holding his head steady—he's a human punching bag, and his thoughts just explode. This is insane. They're insane—he's done nothing wrong! They break a wooden chair over him. Splinters flying. Screams. His body is shaking. They push him around. He stumbles against the wall, on the floor, and he can't find footing.

He spits blood in their faces. And they pound him back.

'That's good stuff!' The director jumps across the mess to catch him close up.

They pull out a barrel of water, and before he can take a deep breath, hands push him down. He struggles to get out. His lungs are exploding. His eyes sting. It's cold down here.

How easy would it be to drown?

How bad would it be, if he dies right here, right now?

No more beatings. No more—he can't take this.

And like a force of nature he's pulled up again; lungs scrambling for breath, and he's shaking the water off.

'Now, say something to the camera, Stinson. We know you like being in front of it.'

The others laugh. And he hates them, just like that.

'Say something!'

His eyes, half-open, wander, to a person standing in the shadows. Even in his state he knows it's the guy who brought them food. The man nods pointedly. Something drops from his pocket.

'This is not a joke,' he says through faltering speech. 'Give them what they want. Robin's with me—Marshall, if you're watching this—'

'Okay, that's enough.' The director shuts the camera. 'We'll send this right away.'

The second-in-command tells his boys to untie him. They gather all their props, kick him on their way out for good measure. Then the door slams. As unceremonious as reality is, he still can't grasp it.

And he finds that he can't even keep his eyes open.

**XXX**

She doesn't know what else to do.

While he was half-conscious hours ago, she'd cleaned his wounds the best she could. They were ugly gashes, bruises all over him. She had lifted his shirt to find more. Broken ribs, she realized, wishing she's paid more attention in First Aid.

'I. . .No, stop! ,' he mumbles deliriously. He struggles, bringing her back to the present. 'I'm sorry. . .I'm sorry. . .Don't touch her. I'll do anything.'

She just holds his hands down, her vision blurring with tears. 'Barney, it's okay. You're okay. I'm here. I won't leave you,' she promises. She kisses his forehead fiercely. Her lips drags his jacket out, the one he had slipped over her the other night when he thought she was sleep, and returns the favor. 'It's just me, no one else. I'm not going anywhere.'

'How can I be sure?'His voice is soft. He's in a dream and she can't pull him out. 'Don't—please, tell me you won't do it again. . .'

She whispers her secret into the darkness.

_Because I love you, idiot. _

**I'm not going to drag this story too long, so maybe I'll end it with Chapter 10? More or less. Anyway, I'm still trying to find a good ending, if they should both be alive and able to escape, if they do. Thoughts? **

**PLEASE REVIEW:) The more, the sooner I'll update. More ideas too. Thanks.**_  
_


	6. Chapter 6

**I wanted to focus on everything they want to say, having gone through that traumatic experience. So. . .  
**

She feels him shift beside him, groaning, sitting up slowly. Suddenly, she feels ashamed of herself. Having said what she did, though she was certain at the time he was asleep. What if he did happen to hear?

'How are you feeling?' she asks him, trying to feel her way through.

'Awesome.' He winces.

'Hungry?'

'No.' His eyes widen. He pushes his hands against the ground, trying to stand. She stops him.

'What are you doing? Sit down.'

'He dropped something, the guy who brings us food. I think it's important.'

'I'll look for it, all right?'

It's a soiled piece of paper, a note. By the faint dawn light, she reads it out loud for him.

'Telephone, three doors to the right. Wait for signal of five knocks.'

**XXX**

They stare at each other, pure shock in their faces. He wants to kiss her. But she would hate that, wouldn't she? Just as much as she'd hated him. He doesn't want to cross that now.

'The first thing I'll be doing when we get out is—'

'To get checked out at the hospital.'

'No, not even.' He grins, pulling himself up slowly. Hospital would need to be second. 'My tailor. This suit can still be salvaged, you know. It's Armani.'

She rolls her eyes. But it means the world to him, to just barely catch the corner of her lip twist as she tries to hide a smile.

**XXX**

They wait, in anticipation of their freedom. Knowing it's all going to end seems to have given them a new life. They talk more, now. They aren't so hesitant to hope, to smile, to joke around, and she's relieved by the lifting of the tension between them. Well, for the most part.

They don't talk about that night, avoiding it like they do with every other problem. That's their sin. She doesn't say _I was so scared, there's so much we still have to fix, so much between us. I've been lying all this time. You always were the braver one. I couldn't even stomach watching you suffer, knowing I've put you through hell before.  
_

It's simple, really, why she can't. Robin Scherbatsky doesn't say stuff like that. Her pride. She swallows it.

She sits so that her arm is touching his, light enough that it won't hurt him. It's comforting. They were never the super affectionate couple they had fun pretending to be, just before they burned out. But they were always _in touch_. She liked that about them. His arm around her shoulders. Her hand on his leg. Playing footsie under the table. And for the most part, they always knew what the other was thinking. They never needed lame signals like _rhinoceros. _

'Robin,' he starts. 'There are some stuff you need to understand. About me and this situation we're in. I'm going to tell you something none of my friends know.'

She nods. 'You can trust me.'

'All right. Here goes.'

He leans into her. Whispers _his _secret.

'That's your job?' she asks afterward, almost laughing. 'I never knew that even existed.'

'It doesn't.' He winks.

'Right.'

'Well, look around, Robin. This is what happens when people find out what I do.'

'So the thing in Germany about—'

He smiles wryly. 'Yes, that was us.'

'And the crisis in Mexico?'

'Pretty much.'

She shakes her head, remembers reporting on that story. Rumors were swirling around, then, nobody had a clue who'd done it, fingers were pointed everywhere. And there he was, right in front of her all along.

'We violated a previous deal by canceling the contract,' Barney continues. 'It wasn't just because we were concerned with our image. It was because we didn't want to attach ourselves with a company that was going broke.'

'So they were desperate and you jumped ship.'

'Yeah. We severed all ties. The vice-president killed himself. They closed down—thousands of jobs were lost.'

'Don't you ever feel bad about that?'she asks, curious. With all that he does, sometimes she wonders if he ever feels guilty about anything.

'One of the few things that keep me up at night,' he admits.

'What are the others?'

He glances at her. And she won't go there, won't even take the risk of looking at his astonishingly honest blue eyes. Get a hold of yourself, she thinks.

**XXX**

He scans her face for any sign of recognition. Is she that oblivious? Because he's pretty sure anyone would see through him right now. Only Robin reduces him back to feeling like that peace-loving, tie-dye-wearing, wide-eyed loser he once was. Like he's chasing something he can never have. He once thought suiting up, getting filthy rich and powerful, breaking other women's hearts would protect his from ever being smashed again. And with Robin, it's not just once. It's a slow process, a game they're playing because they're both too screwed up and scared for anything. Their first try? He'll be honest in saying they were never all in. They held on to their old lives. Something to fall back on.

'Oh, you know.' He tries to wave it off, shrugging. He feels sick. 'The usual stuff. Like, if one day I'd wash up onshore without a face.'

'Right. The usual stuff.'

She's so close he can _feel_ her. Only, her wall, her insecurity, is up so high and strong he can't get through it. Nothing gives her away. None of his womanizing tricks or the experience he's built up from observing women and responding, detecting their emotions, their needs, charming them—none of that has ever worked on her.

_You're perfect, _he wants to tell her. She's always had her Daddy issues, commitment issues, career issues. _We could be too._

What's left of his suit reminds him it's just too cheesy to say.

**I'm not planning to drag this story for too long. . .I'd lose interest. I'm kind of running out, but I'm trying to stay on track. For you guys. :)**

**So, please review. Good or bad. Suggestions. Ideas. Anything. Even one word. All welcomed here.  
**


	7. Chapter 7

The signal finally comes one dusky morning. Five knocks as promised.

Light and darkness have melded into each other, here in their tiny prison. They are the only indications of time now. Everything else is blurred together, a standstill, as they've been waiting out what hopefully are their last days in this hell. She knows he'll never say it, but he's still shaken from what they did to him. To her. And so is she.

They've given their mysterious helper a nickname too: Bilson (Barney's suggestion). He's never been too talkative about his job, but she assumes he doesn't respect his coworkers much.

He tries to prop himself up against the wall, wincing. 'I'll go and you stay here—'

'No,' she whispers. 'I'll go.'

'You're kidding me. What if something happens to you?'

She pulls him back down and gets on her feet. 'You can barely stand! We don't have time to argue about this now. I'll be back as fast as I can.'

'Robin—'

She doesn't waste another breath.

She runs out. An old hallway, piled with broken furniture stretching as far as she can see. And there's no one here. The silence breathes into her. But they can't escape now; she's sure there are guards outside, armed and dangerous, who won't even flinch before shooting them both.

She counts the doors to her side. One, two. Three.

The room is small and in bad condition, water leaking all over. It's smells of mold. There's a cracked mirror on the wall. She stands still, hardly being able to recognize herself. There are smears of sweat and grime and dried blood all over her face. She looks so much thinner, eyes hollow with dark halos lying underneath. Her hair is everywhere.

The telephone sits on an uneven table. She shakes the emptiness off, dials the number of the NYPD. This is a story she's reported on a hundred times. Victims sneak a call, a tweet, a text, and the police sweep right in. At least she hopes it's that easy.

Barney has been lying to her. How are you doing, she'd ask him. And every single time, he says 'I'm fine', probably feeling the need to protect her from worry. But she doesn't need to be.

'This is the NYPD,' a man's voice states calmly.

She almost cries out of relief.

'My na—I'm Robin Scherbatsky. My friend, Barney Stinson, and I are being held captive somewhere around New York, or maybe on the edge—I don't know—and you have to come find us now, please, I don't know how long we've been here. I've stopped counting a few days ago—'

'Slow down, ma'am. We're tracking your location right now, just stay on the line. Can you identify your captors?'

'I can't. They're after revenge—Barney and his company terminated a contract, the firm closed down when they lost all the money. Look, I really don't know the details.'

'Can you tell us about your surroundings?'

She looks around desperately. How much time does she have left? 'Bilson' never specified anything, no time frame, nothing. She's all by herself.

'It looks like an old warehouse. Definitely abandoned. I can't see anything else.'

'Okay. That's fine. Listen, we are going to find you as soon as we get a location. Is anyone hurt?'

'Yes. My friend.'

Suddenly, there's a commotion outside. She slams the phone back to the receiver and peeks out. Voices. Laughter. She closes the door behind her and runs back to the room clumsily. Her foot crashes into a pile of debris loudly.

'What was that?' a loud voice booms from beyond the hall.

Robin freezes, bites her lip and limps back into their room. Locks the door. Panting, she settles back down next to Barney, still holding her right ankle. The wave of adrenaline washes over her.

'What happened?'

She shakes her head. 'I did it. I just tripped over stuff—'

The door is kicked open. Wilson peaks in, suspiciously eyeing everything. There's a rifle in his hand. Robin grips Barney's hand—partly to ease the pressure, partly for the throbbing on her leg—their sweat mingling hotly.

**XX**

He's putting up a calm face. The business, womanizing face. He can hear her breath next to him, as they both watch Wilson carefully.

'You two lovebirds try anything stupid and I will slit your throats.'

He curses. Slams the door, and they hear the jingle of keys locking them back in. Suddenly he's curious as to what happened with that video they sent out. Wilson has always been so calm and cool. Today, there seems to be an edge to him. He reminds himself to keep that in check.

She untangles her hand from his (he's reluctant to let go for a second) and folds her jeans up, fingers trembling. There's an ugly gash. She cringes.

'What _did_ you trip over?' he asks, examining it.

'Splintered wood. Old, dusty trash, some glass bits, I guess.'

He pulls out from their secret stash the disinfectant.

'I told you I should have been the one,' he says, pouring disinfectant over her wound gently. Her fingers dig deeper into his arm, with each sting. But he doesn't mind. He'll probably never be able to fully repay her for everything she's been through for him, and because of him.

It's for putting up with his absurd behavior. Knowing who he really is and still sticking around. Giving him a chance, even if that didn't work out. Believing in him. He's amazed that she loved him despite his obvious shortcomings. Every chance he gets he tries to show his appreciation.

He bends down to blow her wound, to help ease the sting. 'There. Better?'

'Yeah. Thanks.'

She's wearing that smile, tugging at him. A combination of surprise and gratitude and sincerity. Despite his dulling headache and the somberness of the situation, he smiles back.

'What do you think Ted, Marshall and Lily are doing right now?' he asks hastily, eager to switch topics. He has to stop staring at her like that. 'Do you think they're looking for us?'

'I bet Marshall suspects aliens of abducting us.'

And they share their first laugh since getting here. Uneasy, but it's a start, he thinks.

**XXX**

She keeps half-dozing off to sleep, her head periodically banging against the thin walls. Once or twice, she even bumps into Barney's hurt shoulder. Embarrassing. He does his best to ignore it, she sees the effort, and tries even harder to keep her eyes open. She hasn't slept in days.

Any moment now. She has to be awake for it.

'Sorry,' she says quickly, after her head falls on him for the third time.

'Why don't you just lean on me? It would save us both the trouble, seriously.' He stretches his arm out around her, tightly, just like the good days, and she doesn't resist. It reminds her of the first time they slept together. She wonders if he's thinking of the same thing too. Them watching Sandcastles in the Sand on her couch, laughing again and again, kissing, her hand on his tie, his around her neck, shoes kicked off.

She had never felt as safe as she did that night, ironically. And the next morning when she said that they should pretend that nothing happened? It was only because she was scared he would shrug it off anyway, while she wouldn't be able to. Saying it out loud almost made it real.

'I'll wake you up. Just get some sleep.'

She fits her head against the crook of his neck. Where it belongs. She drifts off in no time.

**XXX**

'Get up! Stinson, Scherbatsky, are you deaf? I said get your asses up!'

She wakes up amidst chaos. They're banging their guns against the walls, the floors, gathered together in a group, all masked and ready. But for what? She follows orders quickly, then looks at Barney. Wilson looks furious. And, for some reason, a bit anxious. She has never seen him lose his cold demeanor, and for a second, she almost smiles.

'We need to move. Now. Tie them up.'

'What?' she stutters. This will ruin everything.

'The police are on our trail. Someone tipped them off. I'll deal with that later, but right now—Rosund, are you deaf? I said tie them up. Can't get anything done around here anymore. Give me that.' Wilson, flustered, grabs the rope from one of his boys and pulls her roughly. Barney looks torn. She's tied and blindfolded forcefully. A cold gun pressed to her breasts. Click. She hears him struggle, groaning, and she wants to kick them for knowing where he's still hurting and hitting those spots. They're shoved into the narrow hallway, nearly tripping over themselves.

'Where's Tony?' someone calls out.

'He left to buy more fuel earlier,' Wilson grumbles. 'We've got loose ends to tie up. Make sure to burn all evidence or take them with you. Clean everything that can be traced to us. Fifteen minutes.'

There are men yelling everywhere, and it smells like leftover food. Her stomach grumbles. Her heart sinks. There's an itch on her forehead that she can't scratch. What's going on? Her hopes for a quick rescue have been exposed, and sunk. Where's Bilson, what's he doing? How far are the police? How can she buy them time? As much as she wants to think through this logically, she just can't string her thoughts together.

Grudgingly, she follows her captors. They're pushed into a corner and told to stay put for awhile, the confusion around them evident. Panic. Fear. She can smell it.

**Nearing the end now. . .Please review! Tell me what you think will happen, suggestions, ideas? I'd really appreciate it. Think of it as "payment" for writing this for you guys! :)))**

**Oh, check out my other B/R stories. I'm especially proud of Everything In Between. It's deeper, more reflective. It's the kind of story where 'what is' can be defined by 'what is not'. Hope that made sense.  
**


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